


The Subversive Crusade and All Things Between

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Fighting, M/M, Soldier!Cas, War, patriot!Dean, shot!Dean, the American Revalution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:46:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1293553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester joined the American Army in 1777 because he wanted to be free from Britain, like most colonists. Castiel Novak joined the British Army out of guilt from his older brother. But when Dean is captured by Castiel, there is something in the patriot that he just can't kill. The feeling is reciprocal, and the two men fight together for causes they believe in. But when the are separated, they both assume the other is dead.</p><p>In Social Studies and we were learning about a great soldier who's reputation was destroyed when he came out as homosexual, and the guy that played him in the reenactment movie we were watching looked a lot like Dean so... Thus my fanfiction was born!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The March of War

Dean Winchester and the rest of his team of sharpshooters had been on the road for three weeks when they finally made it to the forest. The group they were meeting up with had been sending carrier pigeons with information about the Redcoats’ progress. From what Dean understood, they were headed the Southern edge of New York, where more Lobsters would arrive in about a month. His people so far had driven the soldiers far into the woods, where they had the advantage.  
Dean was a volunteer. He had lived with his brother, Sam, on a farm in the colony of Virginia. They were both 100% for the Patriot cause, but Sam felt that he would benefit his people better off of the battlefield. He was now in South Carolina organizing an important Sons of Liberty meeting. Dean had chuckled and wished good luck to his brother, keeping in mind the well known Bobby Singer, who would be co-organizing the event. He had heard that he was quite fun to work with.  
His brother had begged Dean not to go to New York, that he could help him with the cause, but Dean had insisted. He couldn’t just sit back and watch, especially since the Declaration had come out. It was going to be an ugly war, but then again, what war wasn't?  
And so, after a long, tearful goodbye and about ten straight minutes of his brother’s famous Sad Eyebrows, Dean had packed his few belongings and headed out to serve for General Michael Milton. He had heard good things about him, and he and a couple other Virginian small town volunteers got together and made their way to the Revolutionary War.  
Over the past three weeks, Dean had grown rather fond of his travel mates. He made a good friend of Benny Lafitte, who would always try to find something to joke about in the hard weeks. They could always find a good time in messing around with the friendly Garth Fitzgerald IV, who, although quiet, was continuously smiling. Dean couldn’t say as much about the other two travelers, Kevin Tran and Chuck Shurley. Kevin, although young, remained consistently pessimistic and Dean wondered if one could roll their eyes that much without causing permanent damage to their corneas or something. And Chuck was just scared of everything. Dean didn’t know how he would be able to cope in the throng of battle if he jumped at every rustle in the trees or bird that flew overhead.  
Dean could understand why he might be anxious, I mean, they all were. Dean wasn’t even sure how he would cope in a fight. Sure, he had won a few bar brawls, but he had never done anything like this. He had joined in a couple of Sons of Liberty riots when they came to town and tormented his fair share of Redcoats, but to actually go to war? He had to keep telling himself that this was the right thing to do, and he couldn’t just do nothing. With an image of Sammy’s herculean figure welcoming him back home as a veteran, Dean put on an assured air, although inside he was terrified.

~

Although Castiel had had rigorous battle training, he was still nervous to be fighting in the colonies. The British Army was trudging through the woods on their way to the next station. The battle at New York had been a success… or, so he was told. He didn’t actually fight. In fact, he hadn’t even been face-to-face with a patriot yet. He had been in the back lines in the battle, and only knew what others had told him.  
He didn’t understand why they were fighting. What did they have to fight for? Castiel, for one, hoped that the colonies would win, although he never told any of his fellow soldiers this. The Americans had a right to be free just as much as he or any other Brit did. Castiel decided that he would have felt guilty if he were fighting on either side, so he pushed down the tickling in his stomach and focused on doing what he was told.  
Not like that was easy.  
And his commander, General Crowley, did nothing to make Castiel’s job any easier. With a constant eye on all his soldiers, Crowley wasn’t about to let any of them slack off. He was in charge of commanding about thirty of the thousands of British soldiers. These troops, sadly, were in the front of the line.  
For the past three weeks, the thousands of soldiers trekked at a speed of about a mile an hour. With fallen trees and forks in the road, the journey was agonizing. The patriots were doing their job well to slow them down, Castiel had to admit.  
Moving at such a sluggish pace meant that there was more standing and waiting than actually marching. Castiel’s troop was often in charge of clearing the path, which also included very sore and uncomfortable nights sleeping with twelve irritated soldiers to a tent. The only thing that kept his spirits up were the friends he made.  
Castiel found himself hanging around the same people: Adam Milligan had been on the same ship with him, and they bonded almost immediately; Samuel Campbell had been a strong force that kept him on track and focused on the task ahead; and Balthazar Roché had added a sarcastic light to their struggles. Castiel was thankful to have at least some people he felt he could belong to.  
He was sitting with his friends around a weakly flickering fire. The troops were quickly running out of food, so Castiel and all the other soldiers had grown used to the usual meal of wheat mixed with water and a few vegetables bobbing around in the thick paste.  
Usually these meals were a time to unwind with his friends, but there was no laughter tonight. The soldiers sat in solemn silence, slowly shoving spoonfuls of cement down their throats. Castiel was a little taken aback by the sudden mood change, but no one said anything about it.  
Except Adam.  
"What's got everyone's wigs in a twist?" Castiel only assumed that this was what he said, for the young soldier's mouth was full to dripping with slop, so it more sounded like "Shush oghs effyuhs iggs ih a thithst?"  
Balthazar was the first to respond. "Well," he said, his sarcasm dripping off of every syllable, "due to the fact that only the higher ranks wear those stupid wigs, most likely nothing."  
Samuel spoke next. "It's almost November. The weather is already changing, and we don't know how to survive in this land in winter." He dropped his spoon into his bowl. "I listened in on the generals. They aren't sure how we are going to get to the coast. We are already way further behind schedule than we should be at this point."  
Castiel's thoughts drifted to his life back home. He had wanted to be a soldier ever since his older brother, Uriel, died in battle when Castiel was sixteen. His mother died a year before he joined the Army, so Castiel really didn't have anyone to go back to. But he understood that Adam had a sick mother, Balthazar wanted to start a shipping company, and Samuel had a wife and a newborn child to go back to. They all had someone they wanted to live for, but Castiel had nothing of interest back home. He never felt he belonged anywhere, so he felt that training for the army would be a good place to try to find himself. Why he chose a life in the army, he wasn't as sure as he led himself to believe. This was his first real war, and he didn't even get to fight in his first battle. He wasn't sure if he could even bring himself to hurt anybody... let alone kill anyone.  
He wasn't given much time to think about this or respond to Samuel, however, for he heard the sharp sound of a bullet, a scream, and a heavy thud. One of their native guides had been shot.

~

Michael had been the one to shoot the Native. Their plan was to wipe out the Redcoats' guides, leaving them clueless on how to navigate the terrain. When the Lobsters started shooting senselessly into the bushes, Dean couldn't help but laugh a little. All the sharpshooters where in the trees. Dean knew that the redcoats would probably never think of that, as thick-skulled as they were.  
Until one of them looked at him.  
Directly into Dean's eyes, as though he knew him or something.  
The soldier had ruffled black hair that was just a bit too long; thick, slightly chapped lips; and clear, water-blue eyes that narrowed a little when Dean stared back.  
But he didn't lift his rifle, which continued to hang loosely in his hand. He just tilted his head and narrowed his eyes more, studying the man in the tree.  
Dean dumbfoundedly stared back and didn't lift his gun. The soldier looked out of place and distant, like he didn't really want to be there, and Dean felt sorry for him. Then he mentally kicked himself, thinking he's still a Redcoat, just gank him already!  
But he couldn't.  
Maybe it was because something in the soldier's sad eyes reminded him of Sam?  
He just... couldn't.  
His attention snapped back into focus when he saw one of his people fall to his left. He landed with a dull thud, attracting the attention of about two dozen Redcoats at once.  
Then they raised their attention to the trees.  
Uh-oh.  
Dean remembered what the command was if the Redcoats spotted them: to get down and run. The Lobsters couldn't navigate as well in thick forests, so they would get tangled up and unorganized. The colonists were to run back to their meeting place, a clearing about a mile away. The way was marked by scours in the roots of trees that Dean knew to look for.  
As he struggled to scramble from his perch, he noticed that the others were doing the same. Since there were significantly less of them than there where British Soldiers, they had to get out of there fast.  
A couple sharpshooters were brought down as the Lobsters piled into the woods, and Dean struggled to keep the bile down his throat. He focused solely on the path to the clearing.  
He lost his footing on the last branch and fell to the soil in a heap. He was only grounded for a moment, for he immediately sprang up and started at a sprint away from the camp. As he followed the other patriots, the blood pounding in his ears, he tried not to think about the soldiers chasing after them, not to think of the soldiers chasing after him.  
Then, all of a sudden, Dean couldn't see the other sharpshooters. He could still hear the sounds of battle, so he hastily looked down to the roots of the nearby trees, but couldn't find any slash marks. His heart having a drum solo inside his ribcage, he decided to backtrack.  
The pops of gunfire and the battle cries of British soldiers seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Dean spun in place, thinking he saw a flash of red here, or a fallen soldier there, and came to terms that he was lost.  
So he ran blindly in a random direction, but as he rounded a corner, hit something large and fell back. Hard.  
From the ground Dean looked up into the barrel of a rifle.  
Dean's heart stopped. The sharp metal tip was an inch away from his nose.  
He slid his eyes up to start in surprise as he recognized the Redcoat who was holding the gun was the Redcoat.  
As in the slightly attractive, ocean-eyed Redcoat who was right now at that moment peering into Dean's soul instead of shooting him.  
Why wasn't he shooting him?

~

Castiel's hands were shaking somewhat as he held his rifle at the man. He was sure it was the same man he had seen in the tree, and the look of recognition that echoed in the man's forest-green eyes sealed his suspicions. He looked so afraid of him.  
Castiel hated that the man was afraid of him.  
He couldn't kill him. How the hell did people expect him to kill another human being?  
Oh yeah, because he kind of signed up for the job. Something he was really regretting just then.  
Castiel didn't think that either of them blinked for a solid two minutes. They just stared at each other, neither one moving. It was ultimately the man he was gunning down who broke the silence.  
"So," his voice cracked and he swallowed, his Adam's apple jumping impressively, "I guess you didn't stop me to ask for directions?" He smiled a weak, defeated smile that Castiel really wished he didn't.  
Castiel was about to lower his barrel when he heard the rustle of bushes behind him and a familiar bark.  
"What the hell are you doing!?" Crowley appeared into view, followed closely by his second-in-command, Alastair. "Just blast the damned rebel's head off!"  
Castiel never took his eyes off of the colonist's. He racked his brain for an excuse for not killing the man. "I... I..." he swallowed, and the man shot him a pleading look. Then inspiration struck like a slap in the face. "I thought we should keep him as prisoner instead?" The man's eyes darkened with dread and Castiel could see his shoulders tremble slightly under his coat. Well, that was better than killing him outright, right?  
"What?" Crowley sounded as if Castiel had suggested making the man King of Great Britain or something.  
"Well," Castiel took his eyes off of the man for a moment and glanced at Crowley and Alistair, who where now surrounded by about six other men, who where now making their way into a circle around the patriot. He guessed that they had lost the colonists. Good, he thought to himself. "All the others got away, and..." he looked back to the man, "I thought that, maybe we could get some information out of him." Yes, he thought, a good cover for not wanting to kill a man is to put him on Death Row? Nice, Castiel. Nice.  
Not lowering his gun, the young soldier turned his head towards his commander, who had a strange, contorted look on his face, somewhere between consideration and a scowl. Crowley's signature expression. "Not bad thinking," Alistair shot the commander a look and opened his mouth to say something, but Crowley put up a hand to silence him. "Maybe he could come in handy." He shot the colonist a hungry stare.  
Castiel was already regretting his entire existence.  
"What is your name?" Crowley leered over the man.  
The colonist cocked up his chin and smirked. "Shouldn't you take me to dinner first?" Although his voice cracked a little, he still held a confident air.  
Crowley lifted the corner of his mouth in a half-sneer. "May I remind you," he said calmly and slowly, "that there are currently one, to three..." he counted the soldiers holding their pistols at the man, "ah, seven guns pointing at you, a very short-tempered general controlling them, and no way of escape?"  
The colonist looked around and faked a look of surprise. "Wow," he snorted, "I guess I really do need glasses." Castiel raised an eyebrow. How can he be so cocky in this situation? He admired his certainty.  
Crowley's almost-smirk melted from his face. "Your name," he snarled, "Now!"  
The colonist raised his eyebrows, but said proudly, "Dean. Dean Winchester of South Carolina."  
"Well, Dean Winchester of South Carolina," Crowley's mouth formed a maniacal grin, "welcome to war."  
"Maybe we could just..." Castiel peered down at the patriot, who was probably calculating his odds of survival. When their eyes met, the man -Dean- quickly looked away, keeping his face hidden. Castiel hoped and prayed to the Lord above that he was not crying, or he might not be able to keep himself together.  
"... let him go?"  
Then Crowley laughed. Castiel had never heard anything more than a chuckle or a sharp exhale of breath come out of him even closely related to laughter, but the general was losing it. He threw his head back and clasped his stomach with his hands, the whole nine yards. To be honest, it kind of scared Castiel. He could tell that this feeling was unanimous among the soldiers. Castiel swallowed, but found that his mouth was so dry that there wasn't much to swallow.  
He was probably joining Dean on Death Row now. How could Castiel totally screw up two people's lives in under ten minutes? Castiel thought he broke a record for the most stupid things done at once.  
"No, no..." Crowley was crying for Christ's sake. "No... I like your way of thinking, Novak. Mercy of a soldier is not often seen." He leaned over to his second-in-command, who was looking very confused and slightly upset, and whispered something to him. The man on the ground shot Castiel such a look of pure solicit that the soldier had to look away to keep himself from losing it.  
"Alright, Novak." Crowley smirked and put his hands behind his back. "You are in charge of this prisoner. You will bring him meals, clean up after him, and guard him." Castiel opened his mouth to protest, his eyes wide, but Alistair cut him off.  
"A big responsibility, soldier," he said, his expression matching the general's, "think you can handle it?"  
Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean and lowered his rifle. He was barely holding himself together, and he wasn't going to lose it now. "Get up."  
Dean got to his feet and faced Castiel, his nose in the air. From this angle, Castiel noticed that the colonist was rather... attractive.  
He shook his head slightly, and it was something that Dean definitely noticed. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.  
"Come with me." With the barrel of his gun resting on Dean's back, which was a position he hated, Castiel led the colonist through the circle of soldiers. 

~

Dean tried to keep his head high even as they entered the camp. His legs were definitely shaking, but he tried to cover it in a swift stride. Looking straight ahead, he tried not to look at the Redcoats who were currently staring at him. Instead he put all of his focus into not tripping over his own feet.  
He faintly acknowledged the point of a gun in his back, and the good-looking man who held it.  
Good-looking? Dean mentally slapped himself. He's a Redcoat!  
Just because he's a Redcoat doesn't mean he can't be attractive...  
Oh, shut up! he told himself.  
And... He spared your life, his subconscious unhelpfully reminded him.  
For now. This was true, though, Dean had to admit to himself. Why didn't he kill him? Dean had never met a Lobster who didn't hate colonists, and who wouldn't gladly put a bullet through their brains if it meant just getting a good night's sleep.  
So why didn't this mysterious soldier shoot him?  
He pushed the thought away when he heard the soldier tell him to stop. He hated himself for doing it, but Dean obeyed. He was looking at a fairly large grey tent. The door flap was open, and Dean peered through to see three thick metal bars stuck in the ground.  
"Well?" The soldier's voice was wavering but stern. Dean twisted his head back to look at him. He hated to admit, but he was very easy on the eyes. He thought it would be easy to drown in the soldier's watery blue gaze, and maybe not all that unpleasant.  
Dean forced himself to push this thought aside as he ducked into the tent. He could barely stand straight without his head hitting the ceiling, so he hunched over and sat down with his back resting against one of the metal posts. The soldier had rope now, and he used it to tie Dean's hands to the bar. he could tell that he was trying very hard not to touch Dean's hands with his own, but when they did he stiffened. Dean, too felt oddly... stirred by the touch.  
But the soldier quickly got over himself and was soon done tying Dean up. He was very good at doing so, for the knot was very tight. Dean calculated his chances of escape, but they were extremely slim. The prison tent was in the middle of the camp, and that Redcoat would be standing guard, so he couldn't simply slip out. and Dean didn't even know if he could get out of the rope, let alone a camp of the best army in the world. they would be on the move in the morning, so maybe his fellow sharpshooters could save him. He doubted it, for he had never even been face-to-face with Michael himself, why would he stick out his neck on Dean's behalf?  
Dean suddenly remembered the British prison ships. He shuddered at the thought. He had heard via carrier pigeon that one in ten men on a prison ship were currently still alive. A man who had escaped said that the air was so foul, that one couldn't even keep a lamp alight, and the dead bodies went unnoticed for at least ten days. Dean hoped that he could escape before a prison ship was to be his fate.  
Then the soldier left."Wait!" Dean tried to call after him. Could he get some water? Food? Anything? But he was gone, and had tied the tent closed behind him. Dean decided to try to get comfortable, but to no avail. The metal bar was always digging into his back no matter what position, and he guessed that non-stop marching tomorrow was going to be very fun indeed.  
So instead, he did the only thing he could think of that he was good at in any situation  
Sleep.

~

Castiel slung his rifle over his shoulder and let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He practically melted down the tree the prison tent was tied to, the events of the day slowly pressing down on him. Castiel knew his knot would hold, so he closed his eyes for a moment. Then he felt a clasp on his shoulder. His eyes flew open to see Samuel and Adam standing above him.  
"Jesus!" Adam exclaimed in disbelief behind Samuel.  
"Nope, just me," Castiel replied, his eyelids felt like sand.  
"Castiel!" Samuel said sternly, taking his hand off of him. "You've had quite the eventful ten minutes."  
Ten minutes? It seemed like hours since the native guide was brought down. "Well," Castiel replied, propping himself up against the rough bark of the tree, "the life of a soldier and all that..."  
"Why didn't you kill the patriot?" Adam said quietly.  
"I thought we could use a prisoner." he replied, though he wasn't sure if his friends would believe him. "For bargaining purposes, maybe."  
"Castiel," Samuel knelt down beside him, "you and I both know that's a lie. Now tell us the truth."  
"That is the truth," Castiel swallowed.  
"No, Cas."  
He sighed. "I just... I couldn't kill him." Castiel expected to see startled and disgusted looks on his friends, so when he didn't, he pressed on. "I don't know why I should have. he is fighting for what he believes in, and I can't see what's wrong with wanting freedom. I mean, it's not like the King can stop them, no matter how hard he might try. America will stop at nothing to be free, why not help them along? Hasn't controlling the colonies been nothing to Great Britain than a great big pain in the ass?"  
Adam and Samuel just stared at him, and then glanced at each other. Okay, now Castiel was really dead.  
"Don't ever let anyone else hear that, Castiel," Samuel's voice was quiet but harsh. "Or you might have the same fate as that sorry colonist."  
"I'll stand guard with you if you want." Adam looked slightly frightened and Castiel felt bad for putting his feelings on him.  
"No," he said, using Samuel for support as he shakily got to his feet. "Crowley put this task on me, and I think I should do it alone."  
Adam shrugged. "Suit yourself. Should I save you some cement for dinner?"  
"No, I'll be fine. Really."  
"Alright," Samuel said as he and Adam turned to walk away. "Take care of yourself, Castiel."  
He nodded and watched them go with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. What had he gotten himself into?


	2. The Path Twists

Castiel awoke to the sound of fighting. He hadn't meant to fall asleep; after Samuel and Adam left, he had sat down at the root of the tree and watched the shadows grow longer. It was practically night time then, but Castiel could still see colonists and his people in a tangled mess.  
Castiel hastily stood up and readied his rifle. The British Army was trained for organized, open-battlefield combat, and they had assessed the rules of battle, but the colonists were breaking these rules: instead of neat lines, the British soldiers were everywhere, shooting randomly into the crowd, not quite knowing what to do; and generals were shouting orders at their soldiers, but nobody seemed to notice or care. Castiel peeked into the prison tent, and exhaled in relief to see that Dean was still there.  
The colonist looked up at him with frightened urgency. "What's going on?"  
Castiel just looked at him and pushed his eyebrows together. He said "Stay here," but immediately felt stupid. Where else was he going to go?  
Castiel ran out into the fray. This way and that he saw colonist-on-soldier, but the colonists were terribly outnumbered, and losing. He felt a stab of pity and... resolve?  
Castiel decided right there what side he was on.  
He spotted a colonist who was cornered by three British soldiers. He didn't fully realize what he was doing until he had knocked out all three of the soldiers with the butt of his gun. Breathing heavily down at the fallen soldiers, he turned his head to the colonist.  
"Go," he said, gesturing to the forest. "You're outnumbered. I'd get out now while you still can."  
The colonist stared at him with a look of disbelief and distrust. "Why are you doing this?" he yelled over the cries of battle.  
Castiel smiled slightly. "I am not quite sure yet," he said, "I'm making it up as I go along. Now go!"  
The colonist nodded and ran off. Castiel turned around and saw that the colonists were retreating into the woods. He wasn't sure what to do next when he heard a hauntingly familiar bark.  
"You!" Castiel turned around to see Crowley and Alistair marching towards him through the receding fray. Castiel guessed that they saw what he had done, and the unconscious bodies at his feet didn't help his case. "What in hell's name do you think you're doing!?"  
Castiel cocked up his chin and tried to look confident, remembering how easy it had looked for Dean. "Choosing a side."  
Immediately Alistair took his rifle and twisted Castiel's arm behind his back. He winced in pain as Crowley clutched his shirt in his hands. Their faces were maybe two inches apart.  
"You," he spat, "are going to regret this. Alistair!" He pushed Castiel aside, making his second-in-command catch him roughly. Once he was balanced on his feet, he felt the tip of a gun in his back. "Put him with our other prisoner."

~

Of course Dean had tried to escape. A battle would be the perfect cover to get out of this tent, and he wanted to help. His wrists were raw from trying to get the rope undone, and he had felt something warm and sticky around his fingers. But it was no use: that Redcoat payed attention in Boy Scouts.  
Dean had been trying to dig the metal pole out of the ground with his fingernails when the soldier in question was shoved into the tent by another soldier.  
Dean looked up curiously. He tried to protest when the soldier started to tie the other to the metal pole beside him, but the other soldier spoke first.  
"Well then, Castiel Novak," he said as he finished tying, "you are where you belong now: With the rebel scum."  
Dean was extremely confused, but he kept his mouth shut and the first soldier said nothing else. He didn't even glance Dean's way as he ducked out of the tent.   
Once the Redcoat was gone, Dean turned to the soldier Castiel. "I would very much appreciate an explanation as to why you have joined me," he said.  
Castiel looked up at him. There was no sadness or defeat in his eyes, only a slight shimmer of... confidence?  
"I chose a side," was all he said.  
Dean was shocked. He assumed Castiel saw this, for he continued to talk. "I decided that your side was the one worth fighting for. I would very much like the colonies to be free, and your beautifully written Declaration of Independence states points of which I agree with. I figured that as long as I'm here I shouldn't be wasting my time."  
All Dean could do was gawk at the soldier with his mouth slightly open. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?  
"Uh..." he cleared his throat and lifted the corner of his lips, "welcome to the club, then. I'd shake your hand, but..." he indicated his bound wrists.  
Castiel nodded. "It's okay. And I uh... I'm..." he coughed and twisted around so he could face Dean. "Uh... about yesterday-"  
"No," Dean interrupted, "it's okay. I mean, you didn't shoot me, so what more could I ask for?"  
The soldier nodded again, looking slightly more at ease.  
"Why didn't you shoot me?" Dean asked quietly after a moment of silence.  
Castiel stared directly into Dean's eyes. There was a shadow of solemn kindness that passed over them, but it was hard to see properly in the semi-darkness. In the dim light, the soldier looked even more attractive, and Dean almost had to shake his head to let the thought pass.  
"I couldn't kill a man who didn't do anything wrong."  
Dean blinked and smiled a little at his new prison mate. "W- Wow, thanks. That's..." he stutters, "that's good. Good then." Wow, for a man who made it his life-long goal of trying to out-live God to have the last word, Dean couldn't believe his inability to form a complete sentence. But it's not like he's ever held a healthy, two-way conversation with a Redcoat. And now it looked like they were going to be stuck there, in the suddenly impossibly tiny tent, for the rest of the night. The idea of sitting there in complete silence struck Dean as pretty terrible.  
As he waited for inspiration to come, he studied the man across from him. Castiel's coat looked too big for him, and his undershirt too small. There was a slightly fatigued look in the soldier's eyes, if that was fatigue; it was too dark for Dean to really tell.  
"It's ah... gonna be a while 'till we start moving then, isn't it?" Dean knew this was a stupid thing to ask: he knew that the Redcoats packed up and continued on their march early each morning. But Castiel regarded this question whole-heartedly.  
"Yes," he said, trying to get comfortable against the metal bar, "it looks like we are going to be stuck in here for a bit."  
Silence.  
Dean still didn't know quite what to say. "So ah... how, how many colonists were there?" There, that was a safe enough topic.  
"Not many," Castiel replied, "they were terribly outnumbered. I don't think there were any deaths, but I wasn't out there long enough to tell. I don't understand what they were trying to accomplish."  
More silence.  
"So ahh..." The hairs along Dean's neck stood up slightly and he shivered, but he tried to ignore it. Why was he so nervous? "So do you have like... friends here? Other soldiers who share your opinions on the war?"  
Castiel's eyes met his, and Dean was struck by how sad he looked. He felt like he wanted to hug him, and then felt stupid. What the hell has gotten into you? Get yourself together, Winchester!  
"No," the soldier replied after what seemed like forever, "there's just me. I made a couple of friends, but they didn't agree with me. You'd think," Castiel chuckled under his breath and took his eyes off of Dean's, leaving the patriot able to breathe again but a little disappointed, "that after knowing some of these people for over six years, I'd have more friends."  
There we go, that was a topic Dean could question. "Is that how long you've been in the army?"  
"Yes." Was all he said.  
There was quite a large gap then. Neither of them said anything, and Dean thought he could practically feel the awkwardness in the dank air. Castiel looked up at him, locking their eyes together. This tent was surely too small, and Dean was certain it was a good deal larger a few seconds ago.  
Minutes seemed like hours until Dean opened his mouth to say something, but found his tongue was too dry to properly say anything, so at first all that came out was a soft grunt. Then he cleared his throat and, with some difficulty, managed to ask, "Listen, why don't we just talk like normal people until we get out of here?"  
The attractive soldier blinked, then tilted his head slightly to the side. "Alright."  
And then more silence.

~

Castiel wasn't entirely sure what to say to that; this might be the weirdest conversation he had ever (not) had. But honestly, what was he supposed to say? Castiel didn't know anything about this man, but did he really want to go there? Did he want to learn more about this mysterious patriot's past? Then again, maybe he would reveal something really terrible about himself and that would be the end to Castiel's potential trust in the man. Which is right about when Castiel realized Dean wasn't actually saying anything else. Oh, maybe he should speak. Alright, decision made.  
"How about we do a sort of exchange of info thing?" The look Dean gave him made Castiel wonder if he had suddenly switched into an alternate language and didn't realize it. "You know, like, I ask you a question and you have to answer it and then you get a chance to ask me something?"  
"A question for a question." That wasn't a question so Castiel just waited. He wanted to concentrate on something that wasn't the leaf-green eyes that were thoughtfully regarding him.  
"We could do that."  
It took Castiel a full thirty seconds to remember what on earth Dean was talking about and another twenty to realize that he wasn't saying anything else. Damn, this was going to be a long couple of hours. "So, uhm, I guess I'll go first?" At Dean's brief nod he went on, "How about, do you... have any siblings?"  
"One," Dean replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, "my younger brother, Sammy." The soft chuckle that came out of him was surprisingly tender. "He's four years younger than me. My mom and dad died when I was sixteen, and he is one handful to babysit. He is in South Virginia right now organizing a Sons of Liberty protest."  
"Wow, you seem like a good older brother."  
"Do... do you have any brothers or sisters?"  
Castiel sighed. "I had one. An older brother. He died in the British Army."  
"Wow," Dean looked at him sympathetically. "Is that why you joined?"  
The laugh that erupted from Castiel seemed to startle them both. "No. I don't know why I joined. Maybe it was for the attention. You know," he cocked an eyebrow at Dean, "the ladies love a guy in a uniform. But really, I've always wanted to own my own farm. I know it's kind of a dumb goal, but I would love a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere without all the annoying city drama." Castiel seemed stupid saying this, but what more was there to lose?  
"That's not a dumb goal." Dean smiled at him, making Castiel's throat expand slightly. "I've wanted to fight for my country since I was sixteen."  
"Well at least you achieved yours." And god, that came out wrong. "Oh, I'm sorry. That came out wrong."  
"Hey, man, it's okay. Maybe you will be able to make your dreams a reality someday. I'm sure you'd make an awesome farmer."  
That was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to Castiel and for the life of him, he didn't know how to respond.

~

Dean shifted on the uneven ground and tried to figure out something to say to break the sudden silence. He wasn't sure if he had overstepped this feeble bond they had created, but the way Castiel's eyes lit up when he talked about farming had touched something that made Dean want to promise him the world but before he could even try to structure how to get these words out, Castiel seemed to shake himself out of it and smiled at him. And God, the things that smile did to him in that moment should have been illegal. It probably was.  
"Well," Castiel said, cutting off Dean's small trance, "I think we have both had an exhausting day and we should sleep while we can."  
Dean nodded and tried to rest his head comfortably on the metal bar. "Goodnight, Castiel Novak."  
"Goodnight, Dean Winchester."

 

The following day was agonizingly slow. Dean and Castiel had ended up with their hands bound together and walking a couple of yards behind General Crowley's horse. Neither of them tried to make conversation, but that was okay because neither of them really wanted to talk. There were fallen trees in the road practically every hundred yards, and Dean couldn't help but wonder that if the sharpshooters had enough time to cut down trees in the soldiers' path, couldn't they at least try to save him?  
And then he had to remind himself that he wasn't a person worth fighting for.  
In the late evening, Dean and Castiel were tied to a tree near the edge of the new camp where they had been for a couple of hours. A stream ran through the many tents of the thousands of Redcoats, and many of the wives and slaves they brought along were washing clothes and dishes. Dean thought this was ridiculous. Couldn't the soldiers suck it up and do the chores for themselves? But they just sat around campfires eating their slop and tossing dirty silverware in their servants' directions. Dean was disgusted.  
He expressed as much with Castiel, who replied "Maybe they just need to feel more like they are at home. I personally don't have a wife, so I helped out with the cooking and cleaning while we were on the road. I agree, it is very unfair."  
So Castiel is single...  
No! Dean told his subconscious, That is not the right thing to be thinking about right now! What he really should have been thinking about was how to escape.  
"So," Dean turned his neck towards his companion, "got any plans for a daring escape I should know about?"  
"Well," Castiel grunted, shifting his back against the bark of the tree so he could look at Dean, "I think I should have my hands free soon. I have been scraping at the rope with my nails for a good couple of hours and I think I have made a fairly large dent." Castiel moved aside so Dean could see his wrists. His nails were raw and bleeding, but the rope was almost clean off.  
"Should I be doing the same?"  
"No," Castiel said, shifting again so his hands were hidden behind his back again, "once I am free, I was planning on leaving without you."  
Dean's heart fluttered. He was... leaving him!? His eyes widened and his mouth opened in horror. "W- What!?"  
"Dean! I'm joking!" The patriot's heart sank down into his stomach in relief.  
"Dude!" Dean let his head thunk against the bark of the tree. "You do not understand the rules of sarcasm." Castiel was laughing, and Dean couldn't help but laugh a little, too. He was in such a strange predicament, he found it all slightly ludicrous.  
"Okay, okay," Dean said after he got his breath back. Who would have thought that, with a Redcoat, as a prisoner of the British Army, he could still laugh? "What is your real plan, Cas?" (When and how Dean had given his companion the nickname, he didn't know, but the soldier seemed to like it.)  
"Well, I'm almost out now, so we just need to wait until everyone is asleep and then I'll cut you out."  
"Uh, cut me out with what?" The redcoats had searched him and Cas -thoroughly, he might add- and stripped them both of all their knives and guns before they had set off that morning.  
"I pick-pocketed Alistair when he was tying us to the tree."  
"Wait," Dean shook his head a little, "you mean to tell me that you pick-pocketed the second-in-command to a general of the British army with your hands literally tied behind your back!?"  
The soldier smirked. "Are you surprised?"  
Dean exhaled sharply and smiled at the soldier. "Don't ever change."  
Cas chuckled and looked at Dean. "Okay." Their eyes locked. They seemed to stare at each other forever, and Dean didn't mind. Hell, he had had more fun with Cas given the circumstances in the fast two days than he had with Sam in years. His brother was always so up-tight and nervous, it was nice to have someone to joke around with. Especially someone like Cas.  
The daze was cut off by a small grunt that came from Cas.  
"There," he said, shifting on the ground, "my hands are free."  
Dean shook his head to clear out the fogginess. "That didn't take long."  
Cas smiled. "I'm dedicated. Now all we have to do is wait for there to be less commotion until we cut you out and get out of here."  
And that is just what they did. Cas eventually fell asleep, which was okay with Dean. He had to keep watch, but he didn't think he would be able to sleep anyway. His mind was a-buzz with non-stop thoughts about the mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a too-big red coat sitting next to him. This is stupid, he told his subconscious, you don't know the first thing about him; why are you so affected? He knew his name, Castiel Novak, that he had been in the British Army for six years, that his brother died when he was young and his mother died a couple years before he joined. He knew that he didn't have a wife and lived alone, and that he had loved his brother and kind of shut down when he died. He knew that he was a very determined and quiet person, and he knew that he had always wanted to be a farmer and he didn't like crowds. Dean also knew that this was absolutely not enough information to enable him to form any kind of bond with Cas, reciprocal or otherwise.  
The fact that it felt like somebody was shooting him in the stomach every time Cas looked at him is definitely strange, but it didn't mean anything. The fact that Cas kept staring at Dean when there are plenty of people around to look at didn't mean anything either. They were strangers, linked only by their belief in freedom.  
Dean kept watch, but Cas's shoulder was almost touching his and it was distracting. He gave up scouring the camp and decided to just look at Cas. His breathing was deep and soft, and his mouth was slightly open. Dean thought that he probably shouldn't have been staring at his lips for so long, but so what? The rules had been changed too many times, and Dean had lost track of any boundaries. So he scooted closer and let Cas's head fall against his shoulder and breathed in his scent. His companion smelled like salt and trees. Dean let his breathing fall into the pattern of Cas's and willed himself to stay awake.

~

Cas awoke to something shoving his shoulder very gently.  
"Cas," the soldier opened his eyes to see Dean hovering over him, their faces very close. "It's quiet. I think we should make that run for it."  
Castiel nodded groggily and forced himself upright. He untangled his arms from the rope with some difficulty and found the knife he had stolen from Alistair in the back of his belt. After he had cut Dean free, they both unsteadily got to their feet. Cas had a terrible ache in his back, but it felt good to stretch his muscles. There were still a couple of soldiers walking around, but it was mostly quiet.  
Cas was impressed by how quickly and quietly Dean could sneak around. Cas himself had been trained for six years on how to do this, and Dean was a volunteer. They made it to the forest in a matter of minutes, with Cas leading the way and Dean following behind him.  
Once they were in the cover of the woods, they ran. They ran far away from the camp and the British Army and just ran. It felt so good to just run. Cas didn't think he would ever tire, but when he glanced back to see that Dean was struggling slightly he decided it was best to stop for the night.  
Dean found a small cave next to a gurgling stream. They ended up sitting side-by-side with their backs propped up against a boulder and their feet facing the stream as they got their breath back. Cas found that if he really focused on the swirling water he could partially forget that Dean's shoulder was just an inch away from his.  
"So," Dean broke the silence after their breathing returned to normal, "where are we headed?"  
Cas sighed. "I don't know. I was really just thinking we could follow the army from a safe distance and hope to run into some of your people."  
"I can help track them in the morning," Dean suggested, "if we're not found and killed by then."  
"That won't happen." Cas turned his head towards Dean's. "I won't let that happen." He added quietly.  
His fellow escapee turned his head and Cas noticed that there was a glimmer or hidden amusement in his eyes. If he could see Dean's eyes sparkle from yards away, it would make sense that, up close, he could see galaxies in them. "What?"  
Dean chuckled but never took his eyes off of Cas's. "You're so protective and determined. It's cute."  
They both froze. Cas blinked.  
"Another word," Dean said, "not cute. Obviously."  
With great effort, Cas pulled his eyes away from Dean's. "You don't think I can protect you? Us?"  
He tensed when he felt Dean's hand on his shoulder. "No," he said, and Cas looked back at him, "the exact opposite."  
Neither of them said anything. Cas still wasn't entirely sure what had happened when Dean stood up. "Well, I uh..." he rubbed a hand behind his neck. "We should get some sleep. I'll take first watch."  
"No," Castiel said, standing with him. His brain was still a little hazy from what just happened. "I will. You get some sleep."  
"You sure? Cause I--"  
"No really, it's--"  
Dean and Cas both tried to step forward at the same time and all of a sudden Cas was in Dean's arms. He had tripped over his own feet and Dean had caught him. Cas's hands were tangled in Dean's shirt, who had one hand on his lower back and the other on Castiel's shoulder blades.  
But it was broken as soon as it was created, and, before Cas knew it; Dean had pulled away. Cas stumbled on his own for a second, and looked up at his companion. His cheeks was deep red and he was rubbing the back of his neck with his hand again, trying to hide his face. "I, uh..." Dean coughed and ducked into the cave without saying another word.  
All Cas could do was stand there and gawk like an idiot. He let go of a breath he hadn't known he was holding, and stumbled over to the edge of the stream. He fell in a heap by the water's edge and just stared out into the forest.  
Castiel couldn't believe that he had practically hugged the man. And that he felt so warm and strong and, oh this train of thought was doing no one any good. But he couldn't help himself from thinking about how Dean had smelled like sweat and berries, and how hard his chest was underneath his thin undershirt, and how solid his hands were on Cas's back and...  
He snapped out of it. Keep it together, Novak.  
But Cas's mind went to how quickly Dean had let him go, as if his touch hurt him. It scared him almost as much as how much Cas had wanted to stay there, wrapped in Dean's embrace, forever. And he totally would have, if he hadn't pulled away.  
But Castiel was used to people pulling away.  
He thought Dean was different.  
He hoped he was wrong.

~

This is stupid, Dean told himself as he hugged his knees on the cold cave floor, I shouldn't be getting so worked up over this. All I did was catch him, right?  
C'mon, Dean, his subconscious helpfully reminded him, you know it's more than that.  
Oh, and what exactly is 'it'?  
You've been after this man since the moment you saw him, and you know it.  
Oh, shut up! Dean snapped at himself. But his subliminal self had a point. He did feel something different with Cas. He wasn't just his friend, or at least, Dean didn't want him to be just his friend. He wasn't actually sure of what he wanted. He wasn't even sure if Cas felt the same way. Hell, how would Dean know if Cas felt the same way if he himself didn't know what he himself felt?  
It was all to confusing. Dean decided that he should just do what he always did when things became difficult: sleep on it.  
Which he did.  
The next day, neither man said anything to each other than was absolutly necessary. Dean noticed that Cas seemed distant, which he hated. He wished that last night hadn't happened. Or he wished that more had happened? He didn't know. All he knew was that he had definitely crossed a line, that he hadn't meant to call Cas cute for Christ's sake. He really hoped that he hadn't destroyed the small bond that they had created.  
They did what Cas had suggested, and followed the Army from a good many yards away. They didn't seem to care that Dean and Cas weren't there, which meant that they wouldn't be looking for them. They had no luck in tracking the colonists, so for two days the escapees survives off of bits of food the British left behind and slept in trees or ditches. They never talked about what happened by the cave.  
Dean didn't know if he wanted to.

~

They were both woken up suddenly by three men. Cas's shoulder was shoved rather hard, and his eyes fluttered open.  
He studied the men who surrounded them. The man pointing the gun at him was tall with a stocky build, with grey stubble and a broad chin. His dark green eyes narrowed at as he glared down at Cas, and he could tell by the way the man was dressed and how he scoured his gaze over Castiel's red coat that he was most likely a sharpshooter.  
"What the hell..." Dean said groggily as he lifted his eyes to the three men around them. Then his eyes widened in surprise and he grinned at the sharpshooters.  
"Benny! And Garth! And whoa, Chuck!?" Dean pushed the gun away from his chest and stood up.  
The colonist who held the gun looked angry at first, and then his face widened in shock and then relief. "D- Dean?" Both colonists wrapped Cas's friend in a huge hug. "We thought you were dead!"  
"Funny how things work out, isn't it?"  
"Dean," said Benny, his voice gravelly and low, like he had been gurgling salt water that morning, "please explain to me just what we have here."  
"Benny," Dean moved to put a hand on the man's shoulder and looked down at Castiel's hunched figure on the ground, "this is Cas. He's one of us."  
"Oh really?" Benny snarled. "And how am I to believe we can trust him?"  
"Because I said so."  
For the first time Benny raked his stare from Cas to Dean then back, very slowly. Gingerly he lowered his gun. "I have had no reason to doubt you yet, Winchester," he humphed. He actually humphed and it sounded like "humph."  
Dean moved to help Cas to his feet. "But," he spat faintly at Castiel, "don't think I'm not going to keep an eye on you."  
Dean acted as if he didn't hear this, but Cas could feel his grip tighten slightly around his shoulders.  
Garth and Chuck led the way to the rest of the Sharpshooters with Dean and Cas in the middle of the group and Benny in the back. Cas felt uneasy with this arrangement, for he felt like a prisoner again. He didn't like that Benny always had his gun cocked, but he could understand why the colonists might not trust him initially. The only reason he hadn't ditched the signature red coat was because it was mid September and winter was coming.  
He was glad, though, to have Dean by his side. He had stuck out for him, and Cas didn't think that anyone would ever do that for him. Just having him there as a physical presence made him feel... safer.

Dean made a convincing argument in Cas's mind, for it took no time at all for Michael and the other patriots to treat him as one of them. Michael was easier to convince, for he thought that Cas could be of assistance in how to infer what the British Army would do next. Soon after they arrived, though, Michael received word that all troops were moving down to New York where they were expecting the British to arrive. In a camp down there, all the patriot volunteers were to train to become soldiers. A French general had arrived and brought with him supplies, weapons, his own soldiers, and new battle tactics.  
Some of the hundreds of sharpshooters were to stay behind and slow down the Army, but some generals were instructed to make it to the camp in New York before the British. This included Castiel and Dean's troop.  
For a week Cas and the rest of the patriots who were headed to the New York camp moved swiftly through the forest along the Delaware River. He stuck to Dean, and he told himself it was just because he was the only person he knew and trusted. Their friendship definitely grew stronger, but they never brought up that night in the cave or anything else that was weighing down in Castiel's mind. It horrified him to think that Dean didn't feel the same way he did, but there was something in the way he would catch Dean's longing gaze on him before he quickly looked away and covered his face that gave him hope.  
Eventually they made it to the camp of thousands of colonist. Midwinter had passed, so Dean and Cas were thrown headfirst into training. Cas recognized many of the battle techniques and was impressed at how quickly Dean mastered them. They had gotten new clothes and battle uniforms that were much tighter than Cas was used to seeing Dean wear. After long, tiring days of training, Cas couldn't help himself but let his eyes linger on how the stretchy material clung to his muscular back and legs. But he tried to keep his little crush to himself and attempted to focus on things that mattered.  
Soon it was time for their first battle. It wasn't supposed to be a huge one, but Cas was still scared. He and Dean were in the same row together, though, so that was good enough.  
Right?

~

The battle was to take place near the coast of New York Bay, and Dean was terrified. He didn't let it show, of course, but it definitely helped to have Cas by his side. He had more military training and experience than Dean and, although he never said it, he felt better next to him.  
Safer. More whole.  
They were marching in a line to the battle site where there was a camp of about a hundred Redcoats. It was dark, nearly midnight, and Dean was tired but jittery with nerves. Cas was next to him, thank God. They weren't allowed to talk really, but Dean couldn't help it. They were pretty much in the back anyway.  
With his rifle resting on his right shoulder and mentally thinking right, left, right, left... Dean tilted his head toward Cas. "So," he said, his arms swinging opposite his legs, "our first battle together. Should I be in charge of making the scrapbook?"  
Cas chuckled softly, but Dean could see that he was nervous. Dean never thought that Cas could get nervous, he was always so strong and sure in his mind. "Dean, this is no joking matter. You've never been in a battle like this."  
"Well, from what I've gathered, neither have you really. So let's get through this together."  
Cas looked at him and smiled. A genuine smile, not just a smile that he might throw in your direction in the rushed training sessions to say good job. This smile was a real Cas smile, one that made nothing else matter in Dean's world until he saw Cas's attention snap to the head of the line.  
They were there.  
The camp was in a clearing. Well, more like a bowl actually, which Dean thought was peculiar. The tents were definitely lower than the line of the forest, with a couple dozen tents in a tight circle. There were Redcoats buzzing around the camp, but the patriots were safely hidden in the thick darkness of the forest. Dean also thought that this was strange: the colonists had the advantage, with the steep slope it would be difficult for the Lobsters to possibly escape, and with the dense forest, the colonists wouldn't even have to really leave their spots. It would be almost impossible to see where the bullets were coming from in the darkness.  
For the best military in the world, why weren't they better prepared?  
The Continental Army arranged themselves in long rows facing the camp. Dean's heart alarmingly fast against his ribs when he and Cas were posted to be in the front line. He crouched in position and waited for the signal to start shooting, Cas a couple of soldiers to his left. And the signal did come to fire, the colonists worked quickly and smoothly, standing to shoot and then crouching to reload. They moved like a well-oiled machine.  
When he was down reloading his gun, Dean peered through the undergrowth at the Redcoat camp. They were in formation now and shooting blindly in the trees. But, to Dean, something wasn't quite right. There were too little soldiers, not enough for there to be that many tents.  
Then realization hit him.  
Uh-oh.  
It was when the rest of the row around him stood up to start shooting that Dean saw the first soldiers. To his right, about a dozen Lobsters crouched in a small trench with their rifles pointed directly at the front line. Dean wouldn't have seen them if he didn't know what he was looking for. He turned his head to shout an alert to Michael when he spotted the second group, in a trench to the left of the colonists. Which was the moment when they started crawling up the side of the steep slope, where they were hidden in the shadows. One in the front stopped yards away and lifted his gun to Cas. Everything after that came back to Dean later in flashes.  
Running towards Cas and almost being shoved over by other colonists.  
The sharp whistle of bullets flying by his head.  
Jumping in front of Cas.  
A burning in his side as he fell to the ground.  
Seeing Cas over him whispering "No, no, no..."  
Smiling and sputtering, "It was an honor serving with you, Castiel Novak."  
Cas's soft Dean as he clutched his face and told him not to go.  
And finally, finally darkness.

~

Cas didn't remember much about that night, and what he did remember was blurry and unfocused, like looking through warped glass.  
Dean taking a bullet for him.  
Cas clutching to Dean and telling him not to leave him.  
Lifting Dean up and pulling him to the back of the lines.  
Michael shoving him aside as they were retreating.  
Someone dragging him away as Benny and Adam lifted Dean's limp body.  
A dull pain to the back of his head, then blackness.  
He hoped he would see Dean wherever it was he was going.


	3. The Unexpected Reunion

There was light coming from somewhere. Dean tried to flip over onto his stomach and when that didn't work to flop an arm over his eyes. And God damn it hurt. What kind of night did he have last night? Last night he... he had... had... damn it, he got nothing. So what did he know? He knew he was in pain, but a hollow kind of pain that felt more like it was happening far away and not in his own body. He knew that he was in a bed... no, a cot. And there was a sound like a fire, but a contained fire. Like a fireplace or campfire. There were a lot of people around, close by. He tried to shake his head and oh, man was that a bad idea. That was when he noticed there was a tight piece of cloth tied to his bare stomach and the pain came closer to him, filling up his entire body and mind with agony. He must have groaned a bit because something was finally real and solid and there gently nudging his bare shoulder and he heard his name, repeatedly.  
Oh, Benny. Hello, Benny. Why are you here? Is what Dean wanted to say, but nothing was coming out of his mouth. Huh. That was a bit weird, but weirder things have happened. Benny's raspy voice was really loud. His practically booming voice slowly echoed a pain in his side through his entire body, and Dean was pretty sure that his bones were rattling with red-hot pain, but he tried to tune in.  
"...wanted to say I'm really sorry. I know this is tough on you man. But I never doubted that you wouldn't come back."  
Come back? Where had he gone? Dean tried to think about this, but doing anything hurt so he focused on trying to listen to Benny.  
"...been here at least once a day. What did you do to him, Dean? I didn't know you had it in you. I thought it was a ladies-only trick."  
What? That made even less sense. What had Dean done to who? Maybe he had gotten into a fight last night. Maybe some asshole had been picking on Cas when... Cas. Cas. Wait, Cas? That was important. But why? But Benny was still talking and his voice was so loud. If it were quieter maybe Dean could've thought better. Think about why Cas... oh.  
It came back to him in pieces. Gunshots. Redcoats. Cas! Running. Pain. Yeah, now he knew why he was there. And it suddenly became very important for him to talk. Cas! Was Cas okay? Had it - had everything been worth it?  
Dean fought for his voice and was finally able to growl a few syllables, and he was surprised when Benny immediately reached for a tin cup. "Here, drink this."  
Dean swallowed the water gratefully, and the coolness of it soothed his aching throat somewhat, but drawing a breath was still painful. "Cas. Redcoats. What?"  
Benny humphed. "I figured you weren't listening. The Redcoats captured about a hundred of us, but that Castiel is fine. He's been here every day watching over you."  
"Every. Day?" Dean spat out the words.  
"Yeah, every day. Doesn't say a whole lot. Just comes in whenever he has a break from training and sulks in the background like he isn't sure that he's supposed to be here or not." Benny laughed then, softly. "But he sure watches over you something fierce. I've never seen anything like it."  
The thought of Cas watching over him was both comforting and slightly terrifying. But there was something else Benny was saying that didn't make sense. "How. Long?" Dean coughed out.  
"Have you been out? Almost four days, Dean."  
Four days? That wasn't right. "Tell me everything."  
"Well," Benny sighed and leaned back on a chair, crossing his arms, "you got shot in the side. You didn't lose much blood, it was mostly just a graze. The doctor's didn't think you'd make it, but that general we have... He's something else. He wouldn't let them give up."  
He tuned him out for a moment. Four days. Why would Michael fight to keep him alive for four days? Did Cas have something to do with this? Cas... Dean hoped he was okay. He was probably in training right now. But hadn't Michael said something before about moving out in a couple of days... Dean couldn't remember.  
"And Dean," Benny said, snapping Dean back to attention. "He would not go away this morning. Garth and Adam had to practically drag him out before they could leave."  
"Leave!?"  
"I'm trying to explain this to you, Dean." That was the sarcastic tone Dean was used to.  
"Well, explain faster."  
"Castiel left this morning. We had to move some of the better shooters to the head of the Continental Army. You were going to go with them, remember? They're headed to New York."  
That was... that was too much. He might never see Cas again. He needed to be there with him. Who was going to take bullets for him? And Dean was supposed to go with him. Something horrible could happen to Cas and nobody would know, nobody would care. Nobody trusted him except for he and Michael. He had no family, and the only person who really cared about him was Dean and wow he was really starting to hyperventilate.  
"Dean, I'm sorry."  
Dean tried to hold himself together as he rolled his head to the side which hurt like a mother, but he couldn't look at Benny. He wouldn't let his friend see him cry. He never let himself cry. The last time he had felt tears roll down his cheeks was when he was six years old and he had fallen out of a tree. His father's speech about taking care of yourself and being strong for Sammy had kept all his feelings in for all these years, but Dean let himself collapse. All the barriers he had spent his whole life creating came crashing down, his walls were being chipped away. He let himself cry.

~

Cas fought long and hard to stay with Dean, but Michael wouldn't allow it. Cas was literally dragged from the camp. Time stretched on, so months seemed like years. Cas didn't talk to anyone. He had taken down barriers for Dean, showed him parts of who he really was. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. He had never let anyone in. He wanted to be there when Dean woke up. Whatever happened to either of them, Cas wanted to be the one at Dean's side, and it only took him till then to realize how selfish he'd been. He trained hard at the new camp, taking out all his anger on the training dummies and in several battles with the Redcoat army. Besides Adam and Garth -Whom Cas was sure Benny had told to look after him only because he was Dean's friend- he didn't make any new friends. He tried not to sulk about losing Dean, but the thought of never seeing him again weighed down on him as if he carried the whole Continental Army on his shoulders.

~

After a few months, Dean was told that he couldn't be a soldier. But he could help the army off the battlefield and become a spy. With some urging from Benny (who was to come along), Dean agreed to go to Virginia and meet up with a spy ring in a loyalist council. It took the better part of a month to make it all the way down to the north tip of Virginia, and that was after the two months the doctors wouldn't let him leave the camp. Dean and Benny kept close quarters with the loyalists and did everything they were asked of an invisible higher commander.  
Dean was sulking hard-core and he knew it. And he really didn't care who else knew it. He and Benny were jostled from town to town and alias after alias, and as a result Dean was missing the days when he had the opportunity to take out his rage with an axe to a tree in he and Sammy's many-acre farm. All he could do was glare at irritating governors giving boring speeches and think violent thoughts towards the world and it's low-life inhabitants.  
Before too long though, the strain of trying to destroy things with his mind became too great and his thoughts drifted. Ignoring emotions was always Dean's "modus operandi", but hours of boring meetings had given him way too much time on his hands, so his thoughts more often than not drifted to Cas.  
Really, he'd rather not think about Cas, but he was pretty sure his brain had forgotten that anything or anyone else even existed. Dean conveniently ignored the fact that Cas and the other sharpshooters moving on had been planned for some time and figured that Cas was just glad to be rid of Dean, especially given all the time spent staring at the man. God, that was embarrassing to remember. What he needed to do was to spend these months forgetting Cas, drowning his memory in John and Nick and a string of women. There was a thought in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like it doubted his ability to ever forget Cas, but Dean did his best to tune it out. After all, that's what he always did.  
So Dean worked hard to be the best undercover that he could, and was soon moved to the top. He tried to track the goings on of the Continental Army, so in September of 1777 (a year after Dean had left to join the army), when he heard of a huge battle in Brandywine New York that was lost, he hoped that Cas was alright.  
He hoped that Cas was thinking of him wherever he was.  
Dean had to admit that was probably the most girlish thing he had every thought, but Dean didn't care anymore.

~

It had been five years since Cas set foot in the colonies, and the Revolutionary War was coming to a close. The troops were headed to New Jersey. Cas had only spent two years in the New York camp, and the last three he had spent on the road. Garth and Adam had been moved, so they could have been among the thousands of colonists either captured or killed and Cas wouldn't know. He didn't know what had happened to his British friends, to general Crowley or Alistair, and, worst of all, to Dean.  
Had Dean pulled through? He could have died the day Cas left, and he wouldn't have known. Maybe he died in battle, or from infection, or he was far away and had forgotten about Cas altogether. Cas tried not to focus on the negative, but in war that was difficult. He had seen both ends of battles. He had seen enough blood and death to last him a lifetime. He had grown hard and callused.  
Once they entered Ney Jersey late at night, the residents obliged to let the soldiers stay in their homes. Some of the soldiers had family there and stayed with them, but a lot of them crawled into the nearest pubs they could find. A couple soldiers whom Cas had grown acquaintanced with dragged him along: Luke, a sarcastic and light-hearted person; Ash, whom Cas had still to figure out, his careless demeanor all but perplexing to him; and Gabriel, who had become more or less like an annoying little cousin to Cas. He was thankful that some people had accepted him in the past couple of years, and they all looked out for him.  
It was late at night but the pub was swarming with activity. Cas sat gingerly at the bar with the other three men. The barmaid turned around and greeted the ofur soldiers with a warm smirk. "I'm Meg," she said, setting her elbows on the table and placing her chin in her hands. "What can I get you boys? Drinks are on the house for men in blue uniforms."  
"A round of the strongest stuff you got, then," said Luke, leaning towards Meg, whose top was just too low for Cas to approve, "please and thank you."  
Cas gulped. He had never touched a drop of alcohol before, but he felt, what better time to get drunk? Maybe, if he got drunk enough, he could fall asleep right at the bar and for once not have nightmares.  
"Got it," the tip of Meg's tongue lingered in the corner of her mouth and she twirled away to get the drinks.  
Cas's breath caught as he felt a body slide up next to him. "Um... excuse me?"  
Cas turned around to a face full of breasts. As he quickly brought his wide-eyed gaze up to the woman's large blue eyes he wondered if there wasn't enough fabric in the town to cover any of the women's chests fully.  
The woman put a hand on Cas's shoulder and he shivered. "I really like a man in a uniform." She giggled. "What's your name, cutie?"  
He was vaguely aware of the other three men watching him as he sputtered stupidly like the idiot he was. "I... I uh... uh... I-"  
"Hi," Gabriel reached his hand behind Cas, "I'm wearing a uniform too. And I would like to believe that I am at least twice as cute as my friend here."  
The girl just giggled, said okay, and then asked Gabriel to dance, forgetting Cas altogether. He left with her, but not without shooting a quick thumbs up to the other soldiers.  
Meg came back with the drinks, but Cas just stared into the depths of the amber liquid. Ash was talking up another girl with a very low dipping neckline, so he turned to Luke. "What is the alcohol content of this?"  
He leaned in. "Like 2%? I don't know. You won't even feel it."  
"C'mon, Lucifer," (that was a joke. Luke didn't seem to mind. Actually, he seemed to like it more that he should have) "I want to get drunk tonight."  
Luke raised his eyebrows and grinned mischievously. "Then I think just sniffing it would get most people wasted."  
"Good." Castiel seized the glass and drained it in one long, smooth gulp. It tasted like somebody set fire to horse manure, and then drenched it in soapy water. Cas coughed and sputtered as he dropped the glass back onto the counter.  
"I don't know if I'm impressed or concerned for your safety," Luke said thoughtfully. Cas didn't care. It wasn't a good idea for him to be there, but leaving would leave him to try to find a place to sleep while blundering around drunk out of his mind. he had no idea what he was like drunk, but it couldn't be worse than what he was like when he was sober.

It was worse than when he was sober.  
In his defense, he started out strong. He chatted with a bartender about the war, watched Gabriel dance for a bit, and chuckled at a dirty joke Ash told him that he didn't fully understand. It only started going downhill around his third glass when Luke came up to ask him to join the rest of them in the dance.  
"Aww, c'mon, Cas!" he said when Castiel refused for the third time.  
"No."  
"Why not?"  
"Because I find the notion of dancing patronizing and abhorrent."  
"Discovery: Cas is a mean drunk." Luke said solemnly and returned to the dance floor.  
"I had bets on handsy!" Gabriel called from dancing with a different woman.  
Cas ignored them and looked down into his glass. It was empty. At least he had the common sense not to ask for another. He was far from tired, in fact he was practically buzzing, so he decided to go for a walk.  
The cool night air cleared Cas's mind a little, but he still felt wobbly on his feet. He didn't know the area, but he found a park close by where he could still here the music of the pub. He walked around the trees for a bit, watching the stars in the clear night sky. It felt good to be out of the summer heat, but Cas was a bit chilled without the coat he had left in the bar. He rubbed his hands along his arms and tried to clear his head. Yeah, getting as drunk as humanly possible might not have been such a good idea.  
Cas guessed that it was around... maybe two in the morning? All the soldiers who weren't in pubs would have been asleep by then. They were to stay in town for a few days while things were planned and final touches were added to missions Cas knew nothing about. But it was not in the forefront of his mind to find somewhere to sleep, so he was perfectly content sitting on a bench and trying to get his thoughts back.  
He was starting to regain subliminal aptitude when a dark figure strode across the clearing. He was a fair distance away, and Cas guessed that he wouldn't be able to see him from the shadows. Cas tried to focus on regaining optimal consciousness, but there was something in the man's bowlegged gait that reminded him of...  
Never mind.  
But maybe...  
No, it was impossible.  
But Cas couldn't ignore the sudden weight in his stomach, so he got up from the bench and made his way to the man. His face was up to the sky with his back towards Cas. Once he was a couple of yards away and mentally preparing what he was going to say to the man, Cas heard a crack behind him, like the snapping of a twig. He spun around but saw nothing. Shrugging, he turned back around, but the man was gone. Before Cas could even absorb what had happened in his still drunken state, he was knocked to the ground from behind.  
Gasping for breath, he tried to twist around and look up, but there was a boot pressed firmly into his upper back, holding his left arm uncomfortably curved behind him.  
"Who are you? Why were you following me?" a gravelly voice barked from behind him.  
"You," Cas coughed into the chilled grass, "you just looked like someone I knew once."  
"Who?"  
Cas sighed and twisted, but the man's foot kept him firmly in place. "Never mind. It's impossible, anyway. The man I thought you were wouldn't wear tights unless there was a gun to his head." He chuckled darkly. "But like I said, it's impossible."  
He could hear the man's sharp intake of breath, then the boot lifted from his back. Then the man behind him said quietly, "Cas?"  
The soldier's mind was still foggy, how did this man know his name? He twisted around and looked up to see a hauntingly pair of familiar green eyes.  
"D-Dean!?"

~

Castiel Novak's face was like it was five years ago, if a little stiff and more stubble. There was a crease between his eyebrows from scrunching them up in frustration, and his bow-shaped lips were in a hard line. His perfect blue eyes were widened with shock up at Dean, who removed his boot but made no move to help the other man up.  
"Where the hell were you all these years!" Dean snapped.  
Cas loooked taken aback. "On the road, mostly," he answered flatly.  
"And you never even tried to find me? Becuase I sure as hell tried to find you!"  
"I thought-"  
"That I was dead?"  
Castiel siged and tilted his head down. "Leaving you killed me, Dean."   
"So do we need to talk, then?" Dean asked, but he mostly just wanted to curl up in the other man's arms. Then he had to kick himself. He should me mad, right? But he couldn't help the feeling of being almost whole again after nearly five years of feeling empty.  
Cas, once back on his feet, looked confused. Dean was a little mad at himself for still thinking it was adorable. "About what?"  
"About... us?"  
"I don't know," Cas answered curtly.  
"Thanks, that's helpful."  
"What do you want me to say?" The soldier frowned. "What is there to talk about?"  
"Quit screwing me around!" Dean didn't want to be as mad as he was.  
"I'm not 'screwing you around'," Cas said sharply. "All I know, Dean, is that I thought of you every day. Hell, I even dreamt about you. I couldn't get you out of my head and I refused to believe you were dead. I almost gave up hope that you would ever come back, because why would someone want to come back to a person like me?" Dean had never seen Cas so angry before, and it hurt him. He wanted to protect Cas, and he felt like he failed.  
"And I don't know what I'd do if you don't still feel the same as we did four years ago, because I sure do." Cas continued. "Maybe even more. But you can't tell me you don't feel something."  
Dean could feel tears coming. He hadn't cried since... hell, five years ago. But he pushed them down. "I can't do this anymore." He said just loud enough so Castiel could hear it and threw his hands up in exasperation.  
He turned his head towards the colonist. "Do what?"  
"I don't know, this!" He gestured to both of them and then stepped a bit closer.  
The stepped closer up as well. "What's 'this' Dean, I just want to-"  
"You had me all turned around!" Dean interrupted. He was practically yelling. "It's like your life goal was to take everything I knew and flip it upside-down. Everything I thought I knew about myself and other people had been rewritten, and I didn't know how to feel about that. I did know that you are different, Cas, that you feel different. You are the kindest, gentlest, and most frustrating person I have ever met! I don't know what there is between us but I know it's more than just friendship, and I really suck at opening up to people, but opening up to you feels so natural, so right... I feel right with you, Cas. Hell, it's been what, five years? And I thought you just didn't care enough to try to find me! I feel the same way now, if even more, that I did all those years years ago."  
"Dean," Cas replied quietly, his head down, "I want you to know that I never stopped looking. I never stopped hoping that you would come back to me... That I would find you..."  
Dean suddenly felt terrible. He cared about Cas, what was he doing, yelling at him and blaming him? "Cas," he began, his eyes wide and his throat dry, "I... I'm sorry."  
"Dean it's okay. And I'm sorry too, but we're here now." Cas sighed and lifted his head up to Dean slightly. "I just don't know what to do."  
Dean stepped closer and cupped his hand on Cas's chin, and before he could say anything about it they were kissing.

~

 

Cas may have never been in a proper relationship, but he had been a teenager once and lost a dare. He had kissing quite safely marked down in the category of Things I Just Don't Get, along with King George III's motives and cavalry races. But Cas found it difficult to be as angry as he should.  
It started out soft, the gentle press of closed lips to his, but it was like every quick glance at Dean somehow melted into one stare that couldn't be broken. Cas found that he couldn't pull away, but he didn't want to. Dean's hand slid to hold the back of Cas's head, fingers tangling in his hair. And he thought he made a noise in the back of his throat as he kissed harder, the movement accidentally pushing Dean's lips apart a little. Cas found that he was okay with the new arrangement, Dean's mouth hot and insistent on his as he slid his arms around Dean's neck. The soldier placed his other hand on Dean's back to bring him closer, needed him closer-   
Cas didn't know how much time passed before his lungs switched from "Cas, can you breathe?" to "Cas, buddy, I know you're having a good time up there, but..." to "CAS YOU NEED TO UNGLUE YOU MOUTH FROM THAT MAN IF YOU WANT TO LIVE." and forced him to pull back. His lips slid away from Dean's and he breathed in a quick pull of air. The soldier's arms were still draped on Dean's neck, the weight and heat of it doing things to him that he didn't know his body could support. Dean's hands were placed on Cas's shoulders.  
With their foreheads pressed together, Dean breathed into Cas's mouth, "Is that a good answer for you? Do you get it? Do you understand?"  
Cas lifted his head from Dean's. They stared at each other for a moment, and Dean made a move to pull away, but Cas buried his face in Dean's neck. He smelled like dirt and sweat, a smell which Cas's brain had identified as Dean, and he couldn't believe how much he had missed that smell.  
"Yes," he mumbled into Dean's jacket, "I understand."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not done yet, but the rest should be coming out soon! I thought here was a good place to end for now, but I will keep you guys updated!


End file.
